


Just One Night to Hold You

by Pteropoda (SilentP)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Aftercare, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Other, References to Knotting, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Unrequited Crush, oversensitivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 22:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16480901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentP/pseuds/Pteropoda
Summary: He couldn't (shouldn't) ask for more than what he has, but Hound is drawn to Mirage like a moth to flame.





	Just One Night to Hold You

**Author's Note:**

> Something happened and now I can just write pornfic again, I guess! Not that I'm complaining. 
> 
> This one's set in the same universe as A Little Bit of Fun, with about as much continuity as you can expect from a pwp. At this rate I'm going to get a whole series out of this scenario.

“Ah—!”

Hound forced himself to hold still, wrapping his arm further around Mirage’s waist. The slight mech was twitching slightly, his legs tensing where they were held open around Hound’s thighs. He gave a hard shudder after a moment and slumped back, resting his back against Hound’s chassis and lazily moving his hips in small circles.

“How’re you doing?” Hound asked, securing his grip on Mirage’s waist. His voice came out rougher than he meant it to, but it was hard to sound in control with Mirage’s valve still pulsing tightly around his spike.

“Mmm,” The sound Mirage made was half purr, half moan. “You _are_ big.” With Hound’s hands on his waist he couldn’t really grind down—not that there was any further down he could grind on Hound’s spike, anyway—but he flexed his valve, clenching around the girth as much as he could. That also wasn’t much, considering how tightly he was already stretched, but it was a very intriguing ripple that made Hound press his nasal ridge against the back of Mirage’s helm and suck in a breath. He wished they’d set up a camera. Or a mirror. Mirage had to look amazing right now, stretched tight around Hound’s spike as he was.

“Are you done being careful?” He couldn’t see Mirage’s face, but Hound could hear the grin, the heady arousal that turned his voice into a liquid purr. Mirage shifted his hips against Hound’s grip, brought one hand down to the edges of his valve and tested the tension in his valve rim.

“Stop that,” Hound murmured, and Mirage squeezed around him again.

“Then stop holding me back, Hound.”

Hound kept his grip for one moment longer, savoring the feeling of Mirage’s valve pressed tight around him, still clenching occasionally. Then Mirage pinched his finger. It wasn’t hard enough to do anything more than be felt, but Hound, chuckling, took it as the admonition it was and relaxed his grip. He let one hand drop away to the bench under them. The other he left resting gently on Mirage’s hip.

Mirage didn’t do too much to start with, just shifted his hips, grinding in slow circles and rippling his valve again and again around Hound’s spike. He did it for so long that Hound’s hand tensed and clutched at the berth below him. “This is you getting me back, isn’t it.”

“Maybe,” Mirage said, breathlessly smug. He squeezed once more, and Hound heard his laugh ring out bell-like at the sound Hound made, the airy tone it took as Hound’s hips jerked up. “Maybe not.”

But the next thing he did was plant his hands on Hound’s thighs and start, oh so slowly, moving. It was barely more than the grinding at first, movements measured in centimeters as he lifted himself up, then slid back down to the base. Even that movement was hot and wet and _tight_ , though. Mirage’s actions seemed perfectly designed to drive him out of his mind.

Hound knew he was playing into it, encouraging it, even. His hands lingered on Mirage’s hips, holding tight but not limiting Mirage’s movement, just anchoring himself through the torturously slow process of Mirage acclimating himself.

Mirage didn’t give him any warning when he finally decided to move, he just did it, shifting from grinding to lifting himself almost entirely off of Hound’s spike in one swift movement. Hound startled as Mirage shifted positions, lifting one hand to steady Hound’s spike, and looking over his shoulder. With the curve of his vents around his faceplates, Hound couldn’t catch much more than his optic, but that was all he needed to see to know that Mirage was smirking at him.

Then he shoved himself down on Hound’s spike with an obscene moan, and Hound saw stars.

He couldn’t keep himself still. He didn’t tighten his grip, didn’t shove, but his hips snapped up, and that was fine, because Mirage’s gasped response was delighted.

“Keep doing that,” Mirage demanded. He’d brought both hands down now, and was bracing himself against Hound’s knees as he pressed himself down to the base of the spike, then lifted himself up to start the whole process over again.

“Frag, ‘Raj…” When he paused his rhythm again just to squeeze his valve down around Hound’s spike, he bit his lip plating hard enough that he thought he dented it. He kept biting anyway, guarding against the words that wanted to slip out. _Keep it casual, keep it casual._

But even without his (and it was embarrassing to admit) crush on Mirage, he was one of the best interfacing partners Hound had ever had. With a spike like his, he ended up getting a lot of… well, very specific tastes. And while they hadn’t been bad nights, few had taken as active a role as Mirage did while filled to the brim and half out of his mind with desire. Even stretched around Hound’s spike as he was, Mirage could ripple his valve around it in a show of control that blew Hound’s mind, and made him struggle to keep his composure every time.

And sure, he was beautiful and elegant and fast and looked like a Towers statue more than a living ‘former, but he preened under the attention Hound gave him and took the lead and didn’t just use Hound for his hardware, or the source of a good, hard spiking.

If he wasn’t careful, Hound would start to become addicted.

Mirage had abandoned the pauses to grind down against Hound’s spike base for now, and was practically bouncing himself on Hound’s lap now, working himself up and down the top third of Hound’s spike without reaching as much of the thick base as he had before. Hound’s spike throbbed, twitched, the base and the sensitive pre-knot throbbing at the lack of attention, but he hardly noticed that

Mirage’s thighs were trembling with the effort of holding himself up and controlling his movement. Before Hound could better support him, his legs gave out under him, dropping him down hard on Hound’s spike.

He arched like a bow, and Hound could see his mouth open into a silent scream, his optics flaring bright as he seized and twitched in a truly impressive overload. His hips jerked up as Mirage ground down, his entire spike throbbed as Mirage’s valve clenched sporadically around him. He was so close, it would take him so little to overload…

But then Mirage’s gasping turned into a whine, and he struggled to lift himself off of Hound’s spike instead, his hands scrabbling ineffectively behind him at Hound’s armor for leverage. Hound helped him with hands wrapped around his hips, even though he couldn’t stop the groan and full-body shudder at pulling away from the faintly clenching heat of Mirage’s valve.

Mirage moaned too, though, and Hound recognized the sound and the careful way Mirage was moving, as though even the slightest brush of air against his valve would be too much.

It took him a reset to get his voice working. “Need a minute?” it came out so much raspier than he meant it to, and he winced at how needy it sounded. But Mirage, still twitching, only nodded and leaned back against Hound like he was the only thing stopping Mirage’s frame from melting into a puddle. Hound focused on keeping his own venting slow and even, and on keeping his hips very, very still. Eventually the shivering stopped, Mirage’s venting slowed.

“You’re going to make me lose my mind, one of these days,” Mirage breathed, twisting to kiss Hound’s cheek, then turning himself fully to kiss him on the mouth. Hound fell eagerly into it, desperate to forget his throbbing spike in the heat of Mirage’s mouth against his.

He didn’t even notice Mirage’s hand moving until the other ‘former hissed into the kiss and pulled away. Hound stared at him for a moment after, dumbstruck.

“Well, that’s lovely,” Mirage huffed. Hound’s optics followed Mirage’s arm down his body to where his hand was hovering over but not touching his valve.

“Did I—“ Hound asked, worry mounting, but Mirage interrupted him with a quick shake of his head.

“Nothing’s damaged, it’s just. Very sensitive.”

He could see some sort of tension settling into Mirage’s shoulders, and very carefully withdrew his hands from their gentle grip on Mirage’s hips. His spike was throbbing, and his charge was a constant buzz through his frame, but—he didn’t want Mirage getting uncomfortable for his sake. “That’s okay,” Hound said, licking his lip and lifting a hand. “I can just—“

Mirage intercepted his hand before he could touch his own spike. “None of that, now,” he said. “I have a few things left to show you, and I think now is the perfect time.”

“O—kay…” Hound said. His voice hitched involuntarily as Mirage slid himself down Hound’s frame, maintaining eye contact even as he positioned himself, kneeling, in between Hound’s legs. Hound swallowed hard, trying his best not to make any embarrassing sounds as Mirage played his hands teasingly across Hound’s thighs, and this too felt like revenge. Hound let him get away with this too, moving forward on the berth until Mirage had all the space he wanted.

He bit back the hesitant question that wanted to form, let it die in favor of the moan that slipped out of him when Mirage took Hound’s spike in hand, sliding his hand gently through the traces of his own lubricant to squeeze Hound’s spike just under the head.

“Now,” Mirage hummed, his optics glimmering wickedly. “Don’t move.”

This time, he didn’t tease. He laved his glossa over the tip of Hound’s spike, then took the entire head into his mouth. Hound’s gasp came out as little more than static at that, but Mirage wasn’t stopping there. Both of his hands were working around the rest of Hound’s spike now. One squeezed around the recessed knot at the base in a way that had Hound shuddering as he struggled not to move. He locked his hips in place, desperately struggling to keep Mirage’s request and not thrust forward. Mirage pulled away briefly to lap down the length of the spike, before returning to the head. Hound, struck suddenly by the sense-memory of Mirage’s lubricant on his own tongue, groaned. His entire frame tensed.

There was no way Mirage would manage his entire spike, but it didn’t matter. He kept doing little things with his glossa and lips and his hands that made Hound’s vision light up in sparks and his frame curl. He felt it as Mirage began to pull back again, but instead of letting the spike slip free of his mouth he changed the angle and lowered his helm again. His mouth opened into a wide “oh” shape around the circumference of Hound’s spike as the head hit the back of his throat, then with a shift to the angle of Mirage’s head, kept going.

It was a good thing Hound had already locked his joints down, because there was no way he could have kept still otherwise as Mirage swallowed around him. “Mirage,” he groaned. His voice was shaking, and so was his frame. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch Mirage’s helm, to take his hand, but he didn’t trust himself to remain propped up on one trembling arm. Mirage swallowed again, optics bright, and Hound shuddered so hard he bit his own glossa.

It had to be one of Mirage’s mods, it had to. He’d stopped about halfway down Hound’s spike, but even that should have been too much for his intake, let alone the processor-shorting ripple of it around Hound’s spike. A third swallow squeezed tight around the head of his spike, and Hound knew he was done for.

His arms gave out under him, and Hound barely managed to catch himself on his elbows instead. He tried to babble a warning, an apology, _something_ , but the roaring whiteout of overload made it hard to tell if he managed to. He slammed his heels hard into the berth as his frame shuddered in waves. He could feel Mirage’s mouth slip away as the first spurts of transfluid shot from his spike, echoing each throb of his spike, the pulse of his knot as it began to expand.

“Mirage,” Hound whimpered, desperate for some sort of pressure—a hand, a mouth—anything that would prevent the bordering-on-painful discomfort of his knot pressurizing with nothing around it, “Please—“

Mirage’s hand and mouth both returned to his spike, but the contact was feather-light brushes along his length, not nearly enough. His mouth fell open, ready to beg for more if he had to, when Mirage’s other hand moved, sliding two fingers into his valve as his thumb found Hound’s exterior node.

This time, Hound did thrash, falling completely flat on the berth as his heels clunked against the berth’s sides. He couldn’t have stopped it if he’d wanted to. It felt like every part of his frame was wired into his node, and Mirage didn’t let up the pressure even as Hound thought that surely this was the limit, surely it couldn’t get more intense than this—

He didn’t have a choice, when his second overload struck him like a bomb. His circuits had to be burning him up from the inside out, it was so much, too much. Everything went black, or maybe white, and Hound screamed as the pleasure ate him whole.

At some point, the _too much_ had become numbness, but Hound only realized when it started to fade away. He could smell the leftover sting of ozone, though nothing of burning. His faceplates twinged, sore and sensitive around his optics with the sting of plasma sparks. He didn’t remember tearing up, but the evidence was there in the tenderness of his faceplates.

He could hear Mirage’s voice, he realized, saying something that he hadn’t been aware enough to catch. With a shudder of relief, he realized he could feel Mirage’s hands rubbing gentle circles on his thighs, nowhere near his valve. Or his spike. There was none of the ache of his knot, and it took him a moment to realize his spike was actually fully retracted.

He could still feel the tremors rattling his frame. It took him a moment to realize where his hands were, a twitch of his fingers helping him locate one along his side, the other curled tight under his bumper. Moving seemed like a monumental task right now. Whatever Mirage had done, it had worked.

“M’raj?” he managed. Moving his glossa stung, and he could taste energon in his mouth. His voice cracked around the name, and Hound found his words stumbling to a stop, unsure if he could manage anything else.

It was enough. The hands on his thighs stilled, then moved. He could feel the shifting of the berth as Mirage rose, one knee braced on it. “Hound?” he said. There was a faint buzz in his voice, not quite a rasp. One of his hands was extended, hovering in the air just above Hound’s shoulder. “Oh, dear.”

He felt unbelievably clumsy, but Hound reached out for Mirage’s hand. His frame was still trembling as he tugged, but Mirage went with his weak movements, even though his faceplates were twisted up in what Hound thought was confusion. Mirage still let Hound pull him closer until they were pressed chassis to chassis, and Hound had his helm pressed against Mirage’s shoulder.

He wanted to apologize for the way he was surely getting Mirage sticky, for being weird about this, but he couldn’t muster the energy. He felt Mirage slowly relaxing in his grip. Slowly the shaking stopped, and the numb feeling began to fade away into slow, tired fuzziness.

Mirage’s fingers were curled around his plating, he realized faintly, painting little patterns in idle circles. It felt nice. He finally relaxed his hold around Mirage’s frame, pulling back until they could finally look each other in the optics.

“Sorry,” he managed, as he saw the tightness in the corners of Mirage’s mouth. “I wasn’t expecting it to get so…” The words he was hunting for ran beyond his reach, so he shrugged instead. Mirage’s fingers hadn’t stopped gently petting over his plating though, and that helped. “Intense,” he managed finally.

He didn’t know how to begin to describe the abrupt over-intensity of having his node stimulated so much after his knot had tried to engage. It had felt like some giant grabbed every last wire of his sensor node and tugged it hard. He was struck by the sudden overwhelming relief that Mirage was still here.

Mirage’s mouth hovered open for a long moment, and Hound tried not to think about interrupting his train of thought by kissing them. “How are you feeling now?” he asked finally.

“Mmm,” Hound hummed in the back of his throat, flexing his fingers and pedes, taking stock. The strange distance had faded, but in its wake came only the comfortable lax feeling of a frame well-used. Even the sting in his glossa wasn’t that bad. “Good,” he said finally.

And it was true, even though he caught Mirage squinting suspiciously at him. The more they lay there, the more the strange over-intensity seemed to slip away from him, to be replaced with the warmth of a good afterglow. He nuzzled Mirage’s cheek to prove it, felt abruptly warmed when Mirage returned the gesture.

“Thanks, ‘Raj,” he murmured against his plating.

Mirage hesitated, just a fraction of a second as his frame stilled, but before Hound could do anything more than notice it, he pulled away. His hands lingered on Hound’s plating for only a moment longer, as he gave an achingly perfect smile. “Of course,” he said. Hound was struck by how abruptly he could begin to look like a shining, untouchable diamond again.  “Now let’s get cleaned up, shall we?”


End file.
